


Upon Reflection

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Basically Bill is his perrsonal nurse and takes care of him and shit, Bill refuses to take Dipper's bullshit, Blind Dipper Pines, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Nurse Bill, Nurses & Nursing, familial death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 15:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13790301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Despite the vast, unimaginable power the brain contains, constantly working and not resting until death, it lacks the capability to strongly protect itself in dire situations. Things happen that throw the brain off its natural course, having a ripple effect on the entire body. Damage occurs that will, most likely, never be able to heal. Not fully, anyway.The one fact Dipper knows for certain, however, is that what’s happened to him is definitely going to affect him for the rest of his life.He’s never going to be able to see again.





	Upon Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Coming at y'all with more content ~~because I'm too scared to admit that I can't do much of anything now that LiS is finished.~~
> 
> This didn't come out as sad as I wanted it to, but that's fine. I can make up for it with my next one shot, I guess.
> 
> Haha also apologies for any information that might be inaccurate. I did as much research as I could.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://featheredkit.tumblr.com)

It’s perplexing, how the human brain functions. How it is somehow able to process sounds and noises and detect contact within the fraction of a second, the signals being sent upwards to it instantly. The signals are then turned into the sensations the everyday man experiences—a sudden shout, a hand landing on their shoulder, the red light they meet on the way to work.

There are several different components to the brain, Dipper knows. They each have their own unique functions, varying functions to help react to the world around them. And even then there are some functions that refuse to be understood, escaping any and all human comprehension. It’s like being locked out of room and not being able to locate the key to unlock the door.

What’s beyond the door, in that room?

Or maybe it’s possible that these things are _meant_ to be so complex, _meant_ to never be understood. At least, that what’s Dipper has come to assume, given all the time he’s been presented to lie down and think lately.

Despite the vast, unimaginable power the brain contains, constantly working and not resting until death, it lacks the capability to strongly protect itself in dire situations.

Trauma.

Concussions.

Things that throw the brain off its natural course, having a ripple effect on the entire body. Damage occurs that will, most likely, never be able to heal. Not fully, anyway.

Dipper remembers reading books on subjects like this when he was in high school, that people continue to suffer chronic headaches long after their concussions are gone, how people who go out to fight wars never come back the same way. How mental illness is be explained by imbalances that can never be permanently contained.

The one fact Dipper knows for certain, however, is that what’s happened to him is definitely going to affect him for the rest of his life.

He’s never going to be able to see again.

Or _will_ he? He opens his eyes, albeit slowly, a small flare of hope jumping up in his chest. Maybe this is just a crazy dream, maybe it’ll be different once he opens them, and the world will be bright and colorful again.

Not to his surprise, the blackness that had existed whilst his eyes were closed is still there, the world around him remaining an empty, meaningless void. The exact same feeling he has in his chest. He sighs, lashes fluttering shut.

He’s been pretending to sleep for the past half hour. Wanting to be asleep. Wishing he was asleep. Someone is supposed to be arriving soon. He doesn't want them here. He doesn't want anyone here. He wants to be alone.

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a few weeks since the accident. He can hardly remember it now, but at the same time he can remember it perfectly. He imagines Mabel as he had seen her that day—when he _could_ see—happy and smiling as they walked to her place, Mabel promising glitter–covered cupcakes and fun. It’d been a while since they were able to hang out like this, college giving such busy schedules and all.

Dipper had been looking forward to that day.

As he recalls, Mabel had been in the middle of a joke when a loud noise had interrupted her. Dipper had turned his head in that direction, yellow light flooding his vision. It was night, so it took him a few seconds to realize what it was—but it was too late, because he suddenly felt himself being thrown away, his forehead hitting something. Hard. He was knocked out instantly.

That yellow light was that last thing he had ever seen.

He had woken up somewhere cold after that, distinct chatter and feet slapping the ground coming from somewhere slightly off. Of course, he’d had no idea where he was. As well as there was the fact that his eyes were wide open but nothing was there. There was only the way his head was pounding, a needle in his arm, a tube down his throat, and a rhythmic beat sounding from somewhere near him.

He tried to scream. No sound came out.

“Dipper?” came his mom’s voice, from directly to his left. He whipped his head towards her like he had done for the yellow lights, seeking her out, wanting her to help him, to _free_ him. Where was he? Why was everything black?

“Dipper,” his mom repeated, a hand landing on Dipper’s shoulder, “I’m so glad you're awake. Listen, there’s something we need to talk about but I’m not sure if I'm able to—” She stopped. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been crying. “I know you don't know what's going on right now, but the doctor will explain when he gets back.”

An occipital lobe injury, the doctor had explained later that day, sounding solemn. Damage to the visual cortex. The vascular system in the back of Dipper’s brain was completely wiped out.

Meaning that Dipper’s central vision, the 20/20 part, was gone. His peripheral vision, for the most part, was gone as well, leaving him only a tiny slice of vision in his left eye that failed to show him anything. Legally blind. He needs a cane and a guide dog and constant attention, a terrible burden.

_For the rest of my life._

As for Mabel, she had died in that accident. The car had crushed her.

“Why?” he asks no one in particular, clutching at his bed sheets. _“Why?”_

It’s his first day back home from the hospital and a nurse is supposed to be coming soon, someone who can help him adjust to his new lifestyle. But how is _that_ possible?

“Dipper?”

Dipper curls up tighter, as if moving as he rests. His mother sees past this, though, and his blankets are suddenly pulled away from him. He sits up, attempting to reach over and snatch them back—which would admittedly be much easier if he knew where they were. “Hey!”

“Your nurse is here,” his mom tells him, throwing the blankets at him. They land in his lap, fabric soft against his clothes. “Be nice. He doesn't _have_ to help you, you know.”

 _“Please,_ Mom,” Dipper snaps, hands itching to punch something, “he’s getting _paid_ to help me.” However, he's surprised. A guy? He hadn't been expecting that.

“Come in,” his mother says to someone, and footsteps sound as an unseen person enters the room. “This is Dipper. Believe me when I say he's a handful.”

“Mom!”

A chuckle. The person’s is voice is deep, layered. Dipper lists his head slightly to one side, not sure what adjective he’d use to describe that voice. “Don't worry about it.  Trust me, I've dealt with much worse.”

It’s quiet for the next several seconds, Dipper wondering what's going to happen next when fingers brush his bangs, pushing them aside to touch his forehead. He hisses and pulls away. “Don't _touch_ me!”

The stranger makes a sound, something like when one is to click their tongue. “Now, now, how are we supposed to help you if you insist on being difficult?”

His mom sighs. “I'm sorry. He’s never normally like this. I think it’s because of the accident, losing Mabel…”

Dipper’s heart leaps at having heard her name. Tears begin to sting at his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. No, no, don't cry. Never cry. This isn't the time.

“That’s understandable. It’s only been a few weeks. Besides, I never expected him to get used to me right away.” Dipper’s bed dips as extra weight is added. “Do you mind if I check your heartbeat? I have my stethoscope here.”

“Wait,” Dipper starts, “you don’t even tell me your _name_ and you expect me to let you use your _stethoscope_ on me?” He is facing the direction where he hopes Bill is standing, not wanting to seem stupid. He would go on, but is cut off when his chin is clutched and his face is forced to turn a little more to his left.

“I’m over here,” the nurse whispers softly, “and my name is Bill, but you can call me Bill.” A chuckle. “We’re going to become good friends. Might as well, seeing as we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a little while.” Then he releases Dipper’s chin and the extra weight on the bed lifts. “I should be able to take over from here. Thank you so much, Mrs. Pines.”

Dipper is dumbfounded. “Take over _what,_ exactly? Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

“No, thank _you,_ Bill,” Dipper’s mom replies, ignoring his side comment. She soon adds, “Behave yourself, Dipper,” which Dipper can safely assume is meant to be directed at him. The door clicks shut after that, letting him know she’s left the room.

He brings his hands together loudly, taking a deep breath. “Alright,” he says, “I’m not sure how much money my parents are shoveling out their assholes for you to be here, but I doubt it’s going to be worth it ‘cause there’s _nothing_ you can do for me.”

“Agree to disagree,” Bill replies easily. “Now that you know my name”—a light slam emits from the nightstand next to Dipper’s bed; apparently Bill has set some object down there—“do you mind if I check your heartbeat?”

“No, but I don’t see why you want to.” Dipper flinches as his shirt collar is pulled down and the stethoscope is pressed against his skin, the cold feeling of it spreading throughout his entire body. “Obviously if I’m alive my heart must be beating, right?”

Bill makes an indistinguishable sound. “I need you to take a deep breath.” Dipper inhales, exhales, and the end of the stethoscope is pressed against another spot on his chest, lower and to the right. “Another, please.” Dipper repeats.

“Good,” Bill tells him. “Now I’m gonna the same for your back, alright?” Dipper doesn’t protest—at least, not until his shirt is lifted and the cold returns, causing him to shudder involuntarily.

“Stop that,” he grumbles.

“You said I could.” Bill hums. “Deep breath.”

A few breaths later and Bill pulls away completely. Dipper imagines that he’s smiling. “I’m not going to be here 24/7, as much as I know that upsets you,” he explains. Some rustling happens from next to Dipper, on the nightstand again. “But you’ll have to put up with me every day. I’ll arrive at nine Monday through Friday and eleven Saturday and Sunday.”

“When do you leave?”

“Permanently, or for the day?”

Dipper squints. “What do you think?”

“For the day,” Bill responds, “I’ll only be around for a few hours. You won’t have to see me ever again once we’ve finished helping you get used to your new way of life.”

“Yeah, and how would you do _that?”_

“Well, let’s see. Some things we’ll do…” Bill trails off. “You’re going to have to learn how to fold money so you can differentiate between certain bills, walk with a cane, get used to a seeing–eye dog…”

Somehow, Dipper manages to hold in a snort. “You can’t be serious, right? I mean, there’s no way in _hell_ I’m doing all that crap.” He grabs at his bed sheets and pull them up to his chest. “There’s no point. What am I going to _do_ with my life now? How am I supposed to graduate from college? How am I supposed to _read the books_ necessary to graduate college? Don’t you _get it?_ I can’t _do_ anything anymore! Mabel isn’t even here to support me.” His hands clench into fists. “My life is _over.”_

Bill is quiet for a really long time. Dipper hears him cross the room, his feet pacing on the floor. This continues for a few more seconds before Bill sits on his bed once more, the creaking mattress being the thing to break the silence.

“No, your life isn’t over,” Bill says, finally. “Your life isn’t over until you die. And, as far as I can see, you’re still alive. In fact, the only person whose life is over is your sister’s.”

Dipper opens his mouth to protest, but Bill continues. “Listen, your sister may be dead, and she may be your twin, but you shouldn’t allow her death to bring you down. In fact, what I _believe_ you should do is live your life twice as hard in her place, try to experience all the things she wished she could experience.”

Dipper lowers his head, meaning to disguise the tears that are threatening to fall. However, he’s unable to stop them, a cool wetness falling down his cheeks, catching on his chin. He swipes at them, willing them to go away.

“She was killed,” he mumbles, hardly hearing his own voice. “She was killed by that driver. How could anyone be so selfish, driving drunk? Is that even something people even _consider?_ Do they worry about the possible consequences when they get in the car?”

“I suppose some do.” A hand lands on Dipper’s shoulder. “People do awful things, and people will continue to do awful things regardless of the loss others have faced. However, I’ll have you know it also takes people to make change. You’re not going to be doing much for Mabel sitting here wishing you were dead, so you might as well _try._ I can’t exactly get you adjusted if you don’t work with me here.”

Dipper sniffs, placing his hand atop Bill’s and peeling it off his shoulder. He allows the contact to last a single second longer than necessary, eventually releasing Bill.

“I want you,” he begins, “to leave me alone.”

“Kid—”

“Get. _Out,”_ Dipper snaps, reaching for the nearest item. It just so happens to be his pillow, which he tosses in Bill’s general direction. “I want you to leave. _Now.”_

Bill leaves the room. Dipper doesn’t allow himself to let out until he can hear the lock on his door click shut, sobs racking his body as his eyes squeeze shut. He digs his nails into his face and wishes, _wishes_ he could see again, because then he would at least be able to look at a picture of Mabel, remember how she looked other than in his memories.

Everything _sucks._

 

Besides having lost his sight in the accident, Dipper hadn’t been too horribly injured. A few of his ribs are broken, bandages wrapped up around his waist. It had hurt a lot more his first week or so in the hospital, the pain almost as bad as the lingering kind in his head. Though it’s better now, it still doesn’t feel too good when he moves around a lot.

This is precisely the reason why he’s lying in bed when someone knocks on his door, breaking him out of his half daze. He isn’t given the opportunity to ask who’s there when the door creaks open a second after that.

“Hey,” says Bill, sounding amused. “Now, don’t kick me out just yet,” he adds, sensing Dipper’s thoughts, “because I have a small surprise. A present, if you will.”

“You can leave it on my nightstand,” Dipper grumbles, not acknowledging his entrance. He’ll have some trouble groping around for it later, but that’s fine. He only wants to be left alone.

Bill makes a small sound. “It’s not the same if I’m not here to see you find out what it is. Plus, your mom told me to ignore you if you complained.”

Dipper’s lips twitch. Since he had met Bill yesterday, pending their conversation, he hasn’t been too fond of the idea of seeing him again—the word ‘see’ being used very loosely. Whatever the case, in Mabel’s memory he can’t turn down a present.

“What kinda present?” he asks. He hears the door close, Bill walking closer.

“Hold out your hand.” Dipper hesitates. “No need to flip, I’m giving it to you.” Dipper then holds out his hand, confused as something plastic is being gently pressed into his palm. “Try to guess what it is.”

Dipper runs his thumbs over the smooth surface. _Hmmm._ Does it go on his _wrist,_ or…?

“It’s a Braille watch,” Bill says excitedly, and for a second Dipper can sense a bit of Mabelness in him. “You have to open the cover and the time is in Braille.”

“That’s kinda cool, but I don’t understand Braille.”

“You _could_ understand Braille,” Bill begins, “if you would be willing to learn.”

Dipper furrows his brow. “How?”

Bill stands at the side of his bed, less than a foot away from where he’s laying. His warmth, somehow, is oddly comforting to Dipper. Rubber squeaks as he pulls on a pair of gloves, reaching over and checking Dipper’s heartbeat like he’d done yesterday. “I had suggested it to your parents, and they seemed quite fond of the idea…”

“What? What idea?” _And why would they not include me in the decision?_

“As you know, you’re going to need to learn how to do things over again—dress, eat, go to school, etc cetera. I’m not going to be here forever. That’s why I recommended a residential school, located two hours from here.” Bill hands stray downwards as he speaks, applying some pressure to Dipper’s ribs underneath his shirt. His rubber gloves on Dipper’s bare skin is a strange sensation. “You could always teach _yourself_ how to do these things, but it’d be easier if you went there. Qualified professionals—”

“Absolutely not,” Dipper interrupts, not wanting _any_ of it. “I can do without. Like, why else would _you_ be here other than to help me? You said so yesterday, don’t even deny it.” He pauses, considering. “By the way, I’m still mad at you, but I…I guess you had a point. I’m discrasing Mabel by doing nothing.”

“I wouldn’t go _that_ far,” Bill corrects, “But, yes, that is basically the gist of what I was attempting to convey.” His index finger digs into a particularly painful spot, causing Dipper to wince. “Apologies. You are recovering nicely, though, which is good.” His hands retreat, bringing Dipper’s shirt back down. “You should give the watch a test run.”

Dipper blinks. “Oh,” he recalls, the object in question still held in his grasp. He reluctantly, awkwardly puts it on his left wrist, looping it through so it’s latched tight enough as to not fall off. Once he’s done this, he slowly realizes he’s managed it without his sight.

“Why did you become a nurse, anyway?” he inquires, facing in what he assumes is Bill’s direction. “What, were you, like, too pathetic to become a _real_ doctor?”

“Nah,” Bill says, carding his fingers through Dipper’s bangs brushing them from his face so he can feel his forehead. “I chose to be a nurse because I’m closer to patients this was. I get to spend a lot of time with people. I'm not allowed to get emotionally attached, though.” Here Dipper imagines him grinning. “They might die. Very tragic.”

Dipper gapes. “You asshole!”

“Haha, yep, that's me.” Bill situates himself on Dipper’s bed, apparently having no regard for his personal space. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

Dipper brings his knees to his chest, curling up against the headboard. Away from where Bill is sitting. “Uh, sure. What?”

“Do you…,” Bill begins, but trails off. He quickly picks up, “Do you always act like a child? According to your file, you're twenty–one, not seven.”

Listing his head to one side, Dipper is less focused on the question that was asked and rather on the question that Bill was _going_ to ask.

Regardless, he chooses to settle. “It’s been...hard lately.” He takes a deep breath, wanting to have to said something sarcastic in return—but, somehow, he's venting. “I'm sorry I was mean to you yesterday.”

“That’s fine,” Bill tells him. “You'd be surprised how often I deal with this kinda thing.” He stands. “I'll go get you some food.”

Dipper listens to him exit.

 

A week later, Dipper finds the blankets he's resting underneath suddenly ripped away from him. Now wide awake, he sits upright and shoots the best glare he can muster at the perpetrator.

“Here, eat,” Bill demands, as a plate is thrusted in Dipper’s hands. “You look completely fucking pathetic, you know. It’s about time you got up off your lazy ass. Once we’re finished we’re going for a walk.”

“You're not the boss of me,” Dipper growls, poking his plate with the fork already placed on it until he finds food. Bringing it to his lips, he takes a bite. Pancakes. From what he can tell, cut into miniature triangles.

“It would be easier for you to eat like that,” Bill suggests, sounding much less fierce than he had a second ago, “rather than have to struggle cutting it on your own. Yes, I'm well aware it makes you feel childish,” he adds, not allowing Dipper the opportunity to complain on that front.

Dipper bites the inside of his cheek. “I just wish I could do things for myself,” he says anyway, placing his plate on his raised knees. “I’ll never be able to drive again, eat food without company… How am I even going to get from place to place?”

“Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. It has to do with the present I'm about to give you.” Bill takes Dipper’s plate, and a small clicking sounds from Dipper’s nightstand, most likely where it’s been placed.

“A good present or an uncle present?”

“Something you don't want, but something you need,” Bill explains cryptically. “Since you've been in bed since getting back from the hospital, I figured I'd teach you how to walk. A guide dog would be ideal, but we currently don't have access to one, _this_ should be able to suffice, for the time being anyway.”

Dipper knows it’s a cane even before Bill throws an arm around his shoulders, helping him onto his feet. It’s not routine for Dipper, getting up for any other reason than to use the bathroom. He becomes self conscious due to the fact, wondering what Bill thinks of his poor self care, how he hasn't showered in over a week and has only changed his clothes once in that time frame (with parental assistance).

He shakes his head. No, since when would he care what Bill thinks?

He shudders as Bill’s hand runs gently over his arm, a cool touch. “Here,” Bill says, and the cane is then in Dipper’s grasp. “You need to slide it along the ground a few inches ahead so you can detect obstacles. Obviously we’re in your house, meaning it shouldn't be hard to navigate.”

Bill’s right. If Dipper could have no problem going downstairs on a normal night prior to the accident, he sees no reason why he should have a problem because he's sightless.

“Don't worry, though,” Bill comments lowly, and Dipper can _tell_ he's grinning. “You can hold onto me if you get scared. I'm right here.”

Dipper finds a blush creeping upon his cheeks in spite of himself. “Honestly, you're such a jerk.” He takes his first step, foot lifting, almost scared it’s going to land in empty nothingness...or the door. He waves his cane. It smacks against the doorframe. “I really hope you don't treat all your patients this way.”

“Nope.” Bill pops the ‘p.’ “Just you.” They’re in the hallway, moving slowly. “Outside, it’s going to be way harder than this. You'll bump into people, get lost if you're not paying attention to which direction you're headed. For a while, until you become used to walking around, I recommend having someone with you.”

Dipper ignores what he's saying, winding his free arm around his waist and leaning against him. He inhales Bill’s scent, fabric softener and, surprisingly, some cologne. Almost Axe, but not quite. Not for the first time, he imagines what Bill must look like, a hazy mental image entering his mind.

“What are you thinking about?” Bill’s breath ghosts over Dipper’s cheek.

“How…how it feels walking,” Dipper manages, pulling away slightly. “It’s like as you're taking a step you never know what's going to happen next. I mean, I have my cane, but—”

Bill’s grip tightens on his waist, subsequently silencing him and knocking the air out of his lungs as he’s forcefully halted. Bill, beating him to the question, says, “I don't want you to fall down the stairs.”

Dipper blushes. “Oh.” He's an idiot, not paying proper attention to his surroundings. Or maybe he _is_ paying attention, and it’s that he's already forgotten his home. He _did_ hit his head.

As he ponders over it, he realizes that the internal compass is still there, the entire house mapped out. However, for some reason it’s hard to follow correctly, and he believes it’s because his body needs to become accustomed to how he needs to function here on. And it _sucks._

“Ah, jeez, kid,” Bill mutters, “there’s no need to be upset.” This leads Dipper to notice he's crying, two thin rivers running down his face. “This is a new adjustment. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

Wiping his tears, Dipper nods. “Yeah, b–but let’s keep going. I wanna test the stairs out.”

Bill shifts, as if he wants to say something. Instead he pushes lightly on the small of Dipper’s back, coaxing him onto the first step. Dipper sticks out his cane, letting it fall onto the next step below him, and the next, and the next…and, a few minutes later, his bare feet hit smooth carpet. He exhales raggedly, never once figuring he'd be so proud to walk in his life.

 _Next time I might even come down here to use the bathroom,_ he figures, daring to lean into Bill again. _Yeah, I should be fine._

“Dipper!” his mom says, and Dipper hears her approach, stopping not too far from he and Bill are standing, maybe a foot or so at the most. “Oh, my God, did you really—” He can feel her gaze is shifting from him to Bill, the way he can somehow simply sense things nowadays.

It’s also due to this inexplicable reason that he can also sense his father standing behind his mother, watching over the scene. He hasn't spoken much since the accident, but in this moment Dipper knows there's a certain new air about him. He extricates himself from Bill’s grasp, somewhat embarrassed at having been seen like that?

“Thank you,” his father says, the words meant for Bill.

Bill even seems relatively uncomfortable at the praise, hesitating in his response. “Yes, well, it’s my job. I'm happy to help.”

Dipper smiles. _Just your job, huh?_

 

Over the course of the next month, Dipper gradually gets better at using his cane, managing to walk the eight blocks to the grocery store with Bill. He begins to shower on a semi–regular basis and even learns some Braille in order to make an attempt at understanding the complicated dots that litter his watch.

By no means does he feel better. Not completely. His dreams involve him pushing his way through a crowded room, swatting at people with his cane as he searches for Mabel, only to catch a glimpse at her as she leaves, her hair flowing behind her in a long wave.

His sight isn't gone. In fact, it’s not only there when he sleeps, but also in his daydreams and in his imaginings. He envisions how he believes everyday objects and scenes look, the cane Bill had given him black, the rubber gloves Bill wears a light blue. The cologne Bill uses is in a dark red bottle, and Bill’s sneakers are white. The way he sees Bill is constantly shifting, though, small details constantly changing.

“There’s going to be a change of plans,” Bill informs him. They're on the way to the grocery store today, a path they've been taking once each day.

Dipper raises his brow. “Change?”

“We’re going farther than our normal destination. As far as you want to go. To the moon if you wish!” Bill laughs, placing a hand over Dipper’s, the one clutching the cane. “So how far?”

Grinning, Dipper replies, “How far are you willing to take me?”

“Could stop at the park,” Bill suggests after some thought. “Rest our legs, then we can head back.” Dipper barely has time to speak an affirmative before Bill’s practically dragging him along—obviously moving slow as to be cautious of Dipper’s current state.

Twenty odd minutes later and Bill helps Dipper sit on one of the park benches, taking the free spot next to him. Dipper breathes in the fresh sir, holding his cane between his legs so he doesn't lose it.

“To clear things up a bit,” Bill says, his tone unreadable, “I'm not trying to replace your sister.”

Dipper has to process that. “Oh, Bill. God, _no._ I wouldn't want you to, and you couldn't if I did. She’s one in a million.” He licks his lips nervously. “Also, you’re not…like a sibling to me. Not in the slightest.”

“Good to know.” Dipper can sense Bill’s eying him carefully. “What _am_ I like to you?”

“I–I mean, a friend, I guess?” Dipper wrings his hands together, desperately grasping for the right words. “It’s complicated. I used to think you were an awful person, but it turns out you're not, and I—” He slumps. “It’s stupid, and totally irrational. I'm sure there's supposed to be a rule against you kissing your patients or whatever.”

“There is,” Bill admits, _“but,_ to be honest, your parents haven't been paying for me to treat you “

Dipper turns towards him. “What?” he asks, wishing he could read Bill’s facial expression, gouge an answer from that. _“What?”_ he repeats. “Since when? I though personal nurses were super expensive.”

“They are.” Bill places a hand on Dipper’s knee. “That's why I said I would assist you for free.”

“Wha— When? Why?”

“After the first day, ‘cause I knew it would take a while to convince you to get you up off your ass. In reality, it didn't take _that_ long, but I digress.” Bill shrugs. “Figured it’d save your parents from losing their home.” He snorts. “But that's not what matters right now. Please, _do_ go on. Tell me how _madly_ in love you are with me.”

Dipper swats his hand away. “You’re lucky we’re in public, because I’m super tempted to throttle you.”

“Fair enough. Hey, do you mind if I ask you something? It’s a serious question, I promise.”

“Which would be…?”

“What do I look like? At least, what do you _think_ I look like?”

Dipper closes his eyes, willing the mental snapshot to return. “I'd hate to resort to stereotypes,” he begins, “but you're a jerk so I'm assuming you're blond. You have a strong nose—not, you know, a button nose like mine. Heart–shaped face, probably? Uh, your eyes...they’re blue, maybe? You have freckles, and you have dimples, too, and they kinda brighten up your face when you smile.” He opens his eyes. “That's all I have so far. Was I right?”

Bill sounds impressed when he replies, “Besides the eyes, dead accurate. They’re—”

“No, don't tell me. I wanna find out on my own.” Dipper frowns. “What do _I_ look like?”

 _“You?”_ Bill asks, chuckling.

“Yeah.  I can't see my reflection in the mirror anymore, so…” Dipper shakes his head. “Sorry, that was stupid.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bill hums. “You look really, really...wise.”

“You're shitting me.”

“Nope.”

They mill around for a while longer before Bill brings Dipper home and leaves for the day. Once he’s gone, Dipper approaches his parents and shakily requests to apply for a certain residential school—it’s two hours away, but he’ll be able to visit on the weekends.

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda wanted to make Bill more of an asshole but refrained when I realized that maybe he should have somma that nurse–ness in his system, but I digress.
> 
> Have a nice day/afternoon/evening, and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> ****  
> _Really wanna make my day? Let me know what you thought!_  
> 


End file.
